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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
NO MARVEL IS IT, by BERNART DE VENTADORN Poet's Biography First Line: No marvel it is if I sing Last Line: "but fear is his undoing" Alternate Author Name(s): Bernard De Ventadour Subject(s): Troubadours; Minnesingers | |||
NO marvel is it if I sing Better than other minstrels all, For more than they am I love's thrall. and all myself therein I fling: Knowledge and sense, body and soul. And what power I have beside: The rein that doth my being guide Impels me to this only goal! His heart is dead whence doth not spring Love's odor sweet and magical; His life doth ever on him pall Who knoweth not that blessed thing: Yea, God who doth my life control Were cruel, did he bid me bide A month or even a day, denied The love whose rapture I extol. How keen, how exquisite the sting Of that sweet odor! At its call An hundred times a day I fall And faint; an hundred rise and sing! So fair the semblance of my dole. 'Tis lovelier than another's pride: If such the ill doth me betide, Good hap were more than I could thole! Yet haste, kind Heaven , the sundering True swains from false, great hearts from small! The traitor in the dust bid crawl, The faithless to confession bring! Ah, if I were the master sole Of all earth's treasures multiplied. To see my lady satisfied Of my pure faith. I'd give the whole! II WHEN I behold on eager wing The skylark soaring to the sun. Till e'en with rapture faltering He sinks in glad oblivion Alas, how fain to seek were I The same ecstatic fate of fire! Yea, of a truth, I know not why My heart melts not with its desire! Me thought that I knew everything Of love. Alas, my lore was none! For helpless now my praise I bring To one who still that praise doth shun; One who hath robbed me utterly Of soul, of self, of life entire So that my heart can only cry For that it ever shall require. For ne'er have I of self been king Since the first hour, so long agone. When to thine eyes bewildering, As to a mirror, I was drawn. There let me gaze until I die; So doth my soul of sighing tire, As at the fount, in days gone by, The fair Narcissus did expire. III WHEN the sweet breeze comes blowing From where thy country lies. Meseems I am foreknowing The airs of Paradise. So is my heart o'erflowering For that fair one and wise Who hath the glad bestowing Of life's whole energies; For whom I agonize Whithersoever going. I mind the beauty glowing, The fair and haughty eyes, Which, all my will o'erthrowing, Made me their sacrifice. Whatever mien thou'rt showing. Why should I this disguise? Yet let me ne'er be ruling One of thine old replies: -- "Man's daring wins the prize. But fear is his undoing" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SORDELLO: BOOK 1 by ROBERT BROWNING SORDELLO: BOOK 2 by ROBERT BROWNING SORDELLO: BOOK 3 by ROBERT BROWNING SORDELLO: BOOK 4 by ROBERT BROWNING SORDELLO: BOOK 5 by ROBERT BROWNING SORDELLO: BOOK 6 by ROBERT BROWNING THE ROLL OF THE ROSES by NATHALIA CRANE THE DEATH OF GEOFFREY RUDEL, THE TROUBADOUR by ROWLAND EYLES EGERTON-WARBURTON BEHOLD THE MEADS by GUILLAUME DE POITIERS DOMEDAY BOOK: JOHN CAMPBELL AND CARL EATON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |
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